Raj had always prided himself on his ability to handle spice. Ever since childhood, he had been the self-proclaimed “chili champion” of his neighbourhood, effortlessly munching on raw green chilies while his friends gasped in horror. He had a reputation—one that had survived countless spice challenges, street-food dares, and the occasional stomach-ache. But today was different. Today, he was going to prove his superiority once and for all.
His arch-nemesis in this unspoken culinary war? Mrs. Kapoor, his next-door neighbour. A woman in her sixties, with an iron will, a booming voice, and a reputation for making the spiciest dishes in the colony. Their battle had been waged through unsuspecting dinner guests, potlucks, and casual “I just made this, have a taste” moments. And Raj was tired of losing.
When his mother announced she was making her special curry for dinner, Raj saw an opportunity. He had recently procured a special chili powder, supposedly sourced from the most potent ghost peppers in Assam. The jar felt oddly warm in his hands when he picked it up, almost as if it carried its own heat. He dismissed it as a trick of his mind.
“Just a little extra kick,” Raj whispered as he sprinkled a generous amount into the simmering pot.
The aroma that rose was intoxicating, thick with spice and something else—something almost metallic. Raj’s mother coughed and waved a hand in front of her face.
“This feels… different,” she murmured. “Don’t overdo it, beta.”
Raj smirked. “Trust me, Ma. This will be legendary.”
Like clockwork, Mrs. Kapoor dropped by just as the curry was being served. She sniffed the air, eyes narrowing. “Ah, Raj beta, smells lovely! Let me see if it actually lives up to the scent.”
Raj handed her a plate with exaggerated politeness. He watched eagerly as she took the first bite, expecting fireworks.
Mrs. Kapoor chewed, her expression neutral at first. Then she coughed. Her face turned red. Her eyes watered. She reached for water but missed the glass, her hand shaking. A strangled gasp escaped her lips.
Raj’s smirk widened. Victory. Finally.
“Too much for you, Auntie?” he teased, barely hiding his glee.
But Mrs. Kapoor wasn’t laughing. She clutched her throat, as if something was stuck. For a second, her lips moved soundlessly, as if she was trying to speak but something had silenced her. Then, just as suddenly, she let out a hoarse, raspy chuckle. The room seemed to grow colder.
Raj’s mother rushed forward, slapping her back. “Are you okay?!”
Mrs. Kapoor straightened; eyes wet but unreadable. “That was… unexpected,” she croaked, voice hoarse.
A nervous laugh spread through the room. Raj exhaled in relief. He had won.
Or so he thought.
That night, as Raj was cleaning the kitchen, he noticed the jar of ghost pepper powder sitting in the same spot he had left it. He frowned. Hadn’t he put it away?
A whisper brushed against his ear.
He spun around. Nothing.
He shook his head, muttering about exhaustion, and turned off the kitchen light. But just as he stepped into the hallway, he saw a shadow move in the dimness—where no one should be standing.
His heart pounded. “Ma?” he called out.
No answer.
Then, from the kitchen, he heard a soft chuckle—the same hoarse, raspy one Mrs. Kapoor had made earlier.
The lights flickered.
Raj felt the blood drain from his face. That wasn’t his mother’s voice.
He took a shaky step backward, his breath coming in quick gasps. And then, right next to his ear, a whisper came again, clearer this time:
“You didn’t win, beta. I just let you taste what’s coming.”
The room plunged into darkness.
Raj’s pulse thundered in his ears. His mouth felt dry, his tongue burning as if the spice he had used in the curry was now coating his insides. He swallowed hard, trying to convince himself it was just his mind playing tricks.
But then he saw it—a handprint on the kitchen counter. A handprint that hadn’t been there before.
The air felt thick, pressing against his chest. He stumbled back toward his room, slamming the door shut. He needed to sleep. That was all. Sleep would fix this.
But as he lay in bed, the whispers didn’t stop. They curled around him, teasing, warning, laughing.
By the time the sun rose, Raj hadn’t slept a wink. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—his eyes red-rimmed, his face pale. He needed answers.
He sprinted next door, banging on Mrs. Kapoor’s door. No answer. His stomach churned.
Then, just as he was about to turn away, the door creaked open. Mrs. Kapoor stood there, a faint smile playing on her lips. But her eyes weren’t the same. They weren’t the warm, familiar ones he knew. They were darker. Deeper. Something else looked out through them.
Raj opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. Her voice came out in the same hoarse whisper he had heard all night.
“Careful what you spice up, beta. Some flavors never leave.”
Then she shut the door.
Raj stood frozen, his body cold despite the heat rising from the morning sun. The laughter echoed in his ears, curling around his spine.
The spice war was over.
But something else had just begun.
